In a small Iowa town where I was raised, we had costume parties at school and church (when you used to be able to call it a Halloween party complete with witches and bats, instead of a fucking bland Fall Festival with scarecrows and hay bales – why are there fun haters? Why?), parades to prance proudly down our eight block Main Street (where every single one of the 1,200 citizens showed up) and so much trick-or-treating mania, I’d have to come home halfway through the evening just to dump my candy (hiding it all from my dad in the dryer or it’d be gone by morning) because my pumpkin got so overloaded, it was too heavy for me to carry.

Forget my adorableness for one second – what about the clown behind #165?

The Halloween parade. A spectator sport for the entire town.

In my younger years, I carried the burden of celebrating Halloween by myself and being a lone Cookie Monster got frustrating.

One is the loneliest number.

Begging my parents to procreate, I was presented with Sister CBXB (you know, the one who called my dad a goddamn son of a bitch at the age of four) who was immediately awarded with side kickin’ it as my lifetime partner-in-crime (lucky her). If I was going to be dressing up (oftentimes making an ass out of myself in later years) she was going to be doing it too, by god (town parades included).

In the beginning of our twosome, we were all about cutesy costumes.

The rock star and Raggedy Ann. A little sugar for my spice.

The ‘cute’ theme seemed to carry on in our early years. Except for the tilt in our heads…and the fog in the background…and the overall sinisterness of this photo.

Cute masked crusaders in Creepy Hollow.

As we grew older, I wanted a little edge (well as much edge as an elementary kid and toddler could muster) to our giddy ups. I let my young inner badass out, as my sister scared the pants off no one.

That’s right. I was hardcore even in elementary school.

We slid slightly into the ghoulish department as my sister joined me in grade school.

Scaredy crow and premature mini old man. Almost spine-chilling. Almost.

Then I graduated to truly frightening and fearful territory as I crept toward junior high. Pebbles was not impressed.

I’m also starting to wonder if there was any other color of hair paint than green, since that tends to be a trend here.

When we thought we were oh so grown up, our costumes reflected our mature attitudes.

Lady and the Tramp. Or Princess and Sock Hop Girl…however you want to look at it.

We were reminded in following years just how far from adults we were…especially yours truly. A recycled mask and costume from a previous Halloween hid my “I’m way too old for this shit” attitude toward trick-or-treating when I was forced to go with my younger sister.

I can’t tell who’s more excited – the monster or the witch.

And being older we’re not so much cute, cuddly or even scary creatures…we’re just mostly cocktailed.

The odd couple. Pocahontas and Kid Rock.

Now that we’re miles apart during the costuming time of year, it’s fun to look back at our sisterly ghosts of Halloween’s past. But what’s even more fun is seeing her twin goblins growing to love the holidays as much as she and I did as kids.

Scary season #1.

Permanent partners-in-crime.

Scary season #2.

I know, I know.The cutest fucking cat and dog you’ve ever seen.

Scary season #3.

Star Wars at its silliest.

Scary season #4.

A mermaid with her super hero.

Scary season #5.

Captain America and a Princess Peacock.

No matter how you choose to spend Halloween, here’s to having a side kickin’ ghoul for your spooky festivities.

Friday started on the right foot with some prep for a Halloween party at the office tomorrow.

However, things took a hard turn when I had a panic attack out of fucking nowhere after lunch. I had to leave work, after catching my breath and then I managed to throw up while driving down the interstate. With my head out the window like a dog. And still got my empty stomach contents all over my shoulder and down the inside of my door.

Adulting is hard.

I threw my newest armour on that I received last week via mail with no note. Now, obviously the sender really knows me, as the shirt not only included sparkly pink text, it read, “Onward Buttercup there’s fuckery to spread.” I had posted a blog about my own personal Harvey Weinstein on Friday (thinking back, possible trigger for a panic attack), and got this text from the sender.

I have the best friends.

Unable to un-tense any section of my body (even my eyeballs ached), I wallowed on the leopard couch, played Words With Friends that pissed me off when realizing my favorite state isn’t really considered a word.

WTF?

I was joined in snuggles from Iowa by my sister and Princess B.

Miles apart but the same at heart.

I was being mauled by my fur balls and I didn’t hate a second of it.

Fierce feline snuggles from Ruby Sue.

Precious and Rocky joined in, too.

I was mighty happy the Iowa game didn’t start until 5:30 pm on Saturday, so I was able to do one out of 100 loads of laundry I should have done, lay on the couch, and watch my 81-year-old boyfriend Lee Corso on ESPN’s College Game Day rock a skeleton outfit. It was pretty much a perfect fucking all day.

Game day ready.

Extremely conflicted as to wear a costume, Iowa Hawkeye gear or a combo of both, I went for the gaudier side. A little Halloween and a whole lotta Hawkeye.

Conflicted costume.

Traveling out to Dada CBXB’s for the game (also known as Pamela Anderson to my Kid Rock this time of year), we got to see Cousin Eddie and Clark that I originally rescued but they took to my dad so much so, that I wrapped them up and gave him to them for Christmas two years ago. He can’t tell them apart and calls them Cat 1 and Cat 2.

To me it’s beyond obvious.

Cousin Eddie

Clarkie

We were all Skinny Pirated up and ready for the 5:30 kick-off. Some of our crowd were more excited than others…

Although the first half was kind of a snore, my Hawkeyes pulled out a win and we take those no matter how ugly!

We then settled down with nightcaps of Manhattans courtesy of my BIL’s famous recipe.

Nighty night.

I slept the most consecutive hours Saturday night in as long as I can remember. TEN hours. TEN! I’ve been averaging maybe four per evening the past two years, so saying I felt like a new lady is an understatement.

To top off the start to my Sunday, I was treated by Dada’s world-famous cheese omelette (according to him) which is one of my fave things he cooks.

Paw Patrol is still big at the Twin Castle, and my handy sister was able to create adorable ensembles for the most adorable duo on the planet.

Skye

Zuma

Then, all hell broke loose for me when fucking Facebook popped up a memory from a year ago and feelings started to seep into my soul. This time every year, I would be prepping Teddy Bear’s costume – this is the first time in eight years I haven’t been able to do it. And top that off with it being National Cat Day, I had a come apart of epic proportions.

Hole in my heart over my main squeeze who is gone too soon.

Not wanting my current fur babies to feel left out, (as I do have the cutest kids on the fucking block), I still celebrated my fave four pussies, of course.

My fab four. Rocky, Fabio, Ruby Sue and Elsa Pants.

I’ll leave you with a little wisdom one of my Nashville sistas gave me in regard to closing out 2017, looking forward to a new year:

How I love the kick off to a long-awaited holiday season, especially when it falls on a weekend. Oftentimes as a kid, I had multiple costumes for different Halloween parties (the horror of wearing the same thing twice), so I followed my own tradition and mixed it up this year.

Stay Puft Marshmallow man mania!

My costume was so on point that the TV show The Goldbergs tried to bring back the beloved ’80s Ghostbusters characters only to fail.

Suck it Goldbergs!

As you can see, our group dominated this category. And we did our own costuming.

Ghostbusters done right.

Another Halloween scene called for more comfortable attire, as my crew was going to see a show and I didn’t really want to sweat (let’s be real, I don’t sweat, I glisten) to death (plus, I wanted to pee and the Stay Puft outfit makes you hold it for however long you’re wearing it).

Lenny Kravitz, Alice Cooper and Kid Rock.

Not to be left out, my fave little chug (chihuahua + pug mix) Precious was an adorable little ladybug.

Most precious lady beetle ever.

Those Iowa twins of mine? They’re obsessed with Star Wars (as all kids I know have been except yours truly…I still don’t get it but whatever).

Seeing how excited the twins were over their costumes, I decided Ted and I would stay in the same family of sorts and dress up as galaxy characters as well.

October 31st happened to not only be the day of candy collecting but also a game day for my beloved Iowa Hawkeyes, who have yet to lose a game and are ranked #10 in the nation (yeah, that’s right!). My team was geared up to keep their record pristine against the Maryland Terps (turtles, in case you didn’t know what a terp was because I didn’t know).

Now one of my blogging besties, Mark Bialczak is a fellow Big Ten fan, who cheers on his Maryland Terps. Last year, we had a bet that whomever’s team lost must be featured on the winner’s blog and ….. here he is in all of his loser glory this year!

James Lipton, famous for his mad interviewing skills, always asks the same ten questions to every guest on his show Inside the Actor’s Studio (and as I sit on my ass and watch from my leopard couch, I always answer right along).

Because I endlessly talk about myself here, I thought it would only be fitting to interview ourmy favorite feline fur ball (yes, New Cat is still around but we all know he’s not my fave) who rules the world of CBXB.

How dare you disrupt my snooze for an interview.

While I’m sure to pay for the sleep interruption later tonight, here are Teddy’s answers to James Lipton’s questions:

What is your favorite word?

Food. DUH.

Most wonderful time of the day.

What is your least favorite word?

No. Which is a word I rarely hear.

With a mug like this, all I ever hear is yes. To everything.

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

Cattails and naps.

Getting the creative juices flowing with cattail hour.

Settling down for an emotionally charged nap.

What turns you off?

Costumes my mother forces me into on a seasonal basis.

Teddy Thicke is too cool for this shit.

Catman hating life.

What is your favorite curse word?

It’s more of a sound. A hiss, combined with a low meow growl moments before trying to attack my mom who inevitably is forcing me do something I don’t want to do.

Done posing for fucking pictures!

What sound or noise do you love?

Tink. (the noise of food hitting my bowl)

I hear tinking!

What sound or noise do you hate?

The alarm going off in the morning. I refuse to budge and make my mom wiggle around me like a contortionist, so she doesn’t wake the sleeping Bear.

You want out of this bed? You’re going to have to crawl over me.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Being that I’m a professional eater, I’d like to try my hand at drinking for a career (I mean, my mom makes it look terribly easy).

Easy peasy.

What profession would you not like to do?

Hunt. I prefer my food poured into a bowl for me.

Hunting and gathering fail.

Tampons don’t taste good.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

What took you so long? Your mom is waiting over that rainbow bridge to drink with you.

There’s my Bear! Come to Mama – I have a fabulous angel costume to force you in!

Being the resident cray cray cat lady of Nashville, it’s a given that I shove my precious pussy Mr. Bear into a costume on any and all occasions that arise.

Unwillingly the cutest, calmest bat cat in all of his glory.

Now because my Teddy is the most laid back pussy you’ll ever meet, over the years I’ve been able to shove him into a sombrero, a tie, a Santa suit, bunny ears and last Halloween, into a Robin Thicke costume (complimenting my Miley – and yes, if you didn’t already know or believe my previous statement, I am bat shit crazy over my feline. I couldn’t love him more if I birthed him myself. Judge away).

But I knew this holiday season was going to be different because Ted and I acquired a new resident this year in the form of a very annoying, extremely lovable, mentally challenged (think Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber) tuxedo cat we cleverly named New Cat. Wondering how I could costume a trio, my gal pal over at Apple Pie and Napalm suggested Catman and Robin, with me chiming in as Catwoman, obviously.

Downloaded templates from the Internet, velcro strips and felt were all that was needed to outfit my super heroes.

I bonded the Catman pieces to felt with fabric glue.

And then cut velcro strips that easily stuck to the felt backed masks and collars.

Hoping NC was high from glue fumes, my fingers were crossed that he would bond with his costume before I tried to slide him into it.

You want me to put what where??

After thirty minutes of trying to wrangle New New into his Robin collar, I should have known by his crazy eyes just how well this photo shoot would go…

What the fuck is happening to me?!

While Ted patiently waited in his full on Catman garb, I wrestled New Cat WWE style to get the damn mask around his head.

.0001 second into the shoot and Mr. Tuxedo was already one-eyed.

Three seconds into the shoot, I thought this was going to be a slightly less stressful event, as New Cat settled down.

Until second five when NC decided to try to entice Catman into a fist fight.

Masked crusader brawl about to break out.

Staying in character, I tried to strong armed the ferocious felines into sitting still enough for one more shot….which might have worked if New Cat hadn’t somehow become more slippery than a greased pig.

Taking the back door exit. No wonder Robin was never the star – he was a big pussy!

So what’s a crazy cat lady to do when one of her pussies is being beyond cooperative during a photoshoot?

Do it again, naturally.

Trying to get my eyes clawed out is one of my many specialties.

As you can see my second attempt failed more miserably than my first and Mr. Tuxedo meowed so loudly my ears were ringing.

FUCK. THIS. NOISE.

Seeing that there was no coaxing my new pussy into anymore costume shenanigans, TB and I went back to what we do best.

This is the biggest holiday of my year (don’t judge) as most of you know just how cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs I am about my pussy, Teddy B. He’s the yin to my yang. The side to my kick. The “me” to my “ow”. So in a dire attempt to make my furball love me all the more, I present you with an ode to the best bear on the planet…